


1.134 Miles Across

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [12]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, lets see how bad olivia can be at period dialect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: The Brooklyn Bridge is way too long in Race's opinion





	1.134 Miles Across

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not my best writing! And ik that! But I have't had much motivation lately and I just wanted to DO something, so, yeah! Enjoy!

The Brooklyn Bridge was a lot longer than most people thought, almost exactly a mile actually.

Which didn’t seem that long when you said it, but when it’s November and you’ve been working all day and you’re fucking  _ exhausted _ , its way too long. 

Racetrack Higgins had done all of those things plus sported a pretty impressive tension headache, and he’d barely started the walk across. The whole newsie thing was starting to be more trouble that it was worth.

“God  _ fucking  _ damnit!”

And his hat flew off the bridge, because he lived in a hell city and god actually hated him.

A growl escaped him as he walked to look over the railing. It was definitely gone, which sucked because it was a shitty hat but it was the only one he had and Jack would find him a new one even if he didn’t ask which wasn’t fair-

A yell and the feeling of being pulled into a headlock cut him off, and he was struggling a few feet back from the railing within a few seconds. 

“Get the fuck-” Race hissed out, and kicked out, before being shoved roughly back into the railing. 

“Didn’t your mother eva’ tell you not to cross the Brooklyn Bridge after dark, Racer?”

Spot Conlon grinned at him from a few feet away, way too chipper for a night like this. 

But Race rolled his eyes and prepared to snark back anyway, it was their thing. “Didn’t yours eva’ tell you not to pick a fight when you’se five foot shit?”

It was light but tired sounding, and Race really  _ didn’t _ want to be crossing the bridge once it got real dark. 

And it must’ve shown on his face because Spot cocked his head to the side and took a step closer to Race before shoving his shoulder lightly. “Hey, what’s up with you? Lookin’ like someone killed ya dog or somethin’’

“Don’t got a dog-”

“You knows what I  _ mean _ ,” Spot said, “All sad and shit.”

Race snorted and leaned back so that he was braced against the railing of the bridge. If Spot could tell he was upset, the most emotionally clueless guy he knew, Jack and Crutchie would be all over his ass as soon as he got back, which was going to be late if he stood here for much longer.

He’d almost forgotten that Spot was waiting for him to say something and almost started walking away when he remembered, and by then he was feeling rushed again. “Nah, it’s nothin’, I gotta be gettin’ back though Spotty, I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

A small part of him was totally unsurprised when Spot pulled him back by the collar halfway through his second step. A larger part of him was tired and another decent part was becoming more and more aware of the time and how the boys were probably starting to get nervous about him.

Spot either didn’t recognize or care about any of those things; Race guessed the latter. 

“Hey, you’se heard what I said about crossin’ the bridge at night? Not happening Manhattan, you can bunk with me tonight.”

It was awful nice, and tempting, of Spot to offer and Race started to say as much, but found himself dragged back toward Brooklyn before he could get anything out. The guy might be five foot shit but he was strong as a goddamn bull.

* * *

 

The Brooklyn lodging house looked a lot like Manhattan’s, a bit smaller and a hell of a lot louder. Spot snapped at a few of the older boys to keep it down as he pulled Race through the main bunking room and up a flight of rickety stairs.

“All’a them gonna be complaining ‘bout being tired in the morning,” Spot said with a hint of annoyance and what might be endearance on anybody else.

Exhaustion had kept Race’s mouth shut for most of the walk there and once they got into Spot’s little room an actual moan escaped him as he flopped face first onto the bed. It felt so nice to lay down. “God I’m so fucking tired.”

Spot chuckled from somewhere behind him and Race felt something land on his back. “Yeah, “well change outta that stuff before you go and fuck up the bed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Race said, lighter now, as he turned over and grabbed the threadbare t-shirt and shorts. They were a little small but would do, he’d be cold but it was better than sleeping in the same stuff he’d been in all day. “Thanks.”

Spot sat down next to him and hummed in response. Race pulled off his shirt and pants, changing while Spot laid back and started messing with the blanket, well, more sheet than blanket but it was better than nothing. 

“Y’know Jack’s gonna kill me tomorrow,” Race said, swinging his legs over the side on the bed to lay down properly, “‘less he breaks ya door down tonight.”

The feeling of a blanket being pulled over Race as Spot laid down too was oddly comforting and for some reason he felt really young right then with Spot. He even curled into the blanket a bit and stretched out his sore legs, he was rarely this relaxed, well anywhere really, and it felt nice. 

He looked up and Spot’s eyes darted away from him and toward the ceiling, and Race almost quipped something out about staring before Spot cut him off. 

“Nah, Kelly’ll figure out your here sooner or later, ain’t like this is the first time you’se stayed over.”

That was true and Race nodded sleepily. “Jack knows more’n he lets on about us two I think, too much if ya ask me, but enough.”

A grunt and Race felt Spot turn onto his side, and opened his eyes to meet Spot’s own about six inches away now.

“Yeah, well not like he’ll be mouthin’ off ‘bout it anytime soon, we’se know about him and Davey,” he said. There was a bit of an edge in his voice and Race knew that he really would use that as blackmail, which was shitty and unnecessary, but remarkably Spot, and he didn’t care all that much. 

Feeling around for a second, Race grabbed Spot’s hand and pulled it closer to his chest, the blanket wasn’t doing its job and Spot was warm. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go ta sleep tough guy.”

Spot muttered something quietly enough that Race couldn’t hear before moving in closer to Race, foot pushing at his calf persistently. “Aw c’mon we can sleep when we’se dead.”

When Race opened his mouth to respond Spot pressed his lips to his and whined when Race pulled back after a couple of seconds.

“I’se tired Spotty,” he said, “In the morning, I swear.”

Spot groaned but pulled back nonetheless, legs tangling with Race’s and arms reaching over him. “You’se better not be lyin’, I don’t like lyin’ Racer.”

The teasing note in his voice brought a half smirk to Race’s face as he started to drift off. Spot was warm and despite not shutting up for a while, comforting as hell. If he had to guess, he would have said about thirty seconds, tops, before he was out.

* * *

 

Race’s flushed face and messy hair gave away a lot more than he would have liked, and a series of whistles and howls followed him as he walked into the lodging house the next morning.

Jack had been half a step behind him as soon as he crossed the bridge around dawn, and he kicked at Race’s calves when he stopped at his bunk.

“I’d ask who ya spent the night with if I hadn’t seen Spot Conlon wearin’ that shirt a few days back,” Jack said.

Fighting down a blush Race turned to face an incredibly smug Jack. “Night  _ and  _ morning, thank ya very much.”

Jack barked out a laugh and cuffed Race around the head as they started to leave. “Damn Higgins, get it!”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I'm tired and this isn't fantastic but im so tired and need some semblance of inspiration
> 
> P l e a s e leave kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed, for my dying sake


End file.
